


Coersion

by Tarn_Liberated



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blackmail, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Hate Sex, Insults, M/M, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plug and Play Sexual Interfacing, Sexual Coercion, Sticky, Threesome - M/M/M, Voyeurism, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-01 09:59:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5201636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarn_Liberated/pseuds/Tarn_Liberated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarn's calling in the favor Magnus owes him in a form neither of them expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a part of something bigger but to get me to finish anything is like pulling teeth so I decided I'd finish this one and post it by itself. It's not as terrible as the tags may make it seem. It's mostly angry banter during sex and Magnus being furious about the whole thing. Overlord doesn't know when to shut up and loves the sound of his own voice while Tarn wants to hurry and get this over with.

Ultra Magnus’s defense system kicked into overdrive even as his body locked up and plating carefully pulled snug to his frame. He couldn’t move, all systems pointed to fleeing but with Overlord’s frame blocking the only exit he would somehow have to get around him. He wasn’t stupid. Nothing he had could injure the either of the two murderers that rapped him in the room. Tarn was still perched on a table, watching the two silently.

“You brought me here to kill me?” Magnus asked carefully, statistics running fast and scurrying for a plausible escape route.

“Not quite,” Overlord purred, taking another step into the room and audibly locking the door behind him. Magnus’ defense system froze and started racking up new escape plans. “You see, I figure that unless I have you in my debt myself, you’d never give me what I wanted.” His steps were slow, his smirk cocky and knowing. Ultra locked optics with him and barely suppressed the snarl his engine gave when he was close enough that their EM fields almost touched.

“So the two of you are working together.” Every weapon in his frame hummed to life silently and prepared to engage. All he needed was a reason. Any inclination that they would attack would give him the right to fight back.

“If only by force.” Tarn explained, finally speaking up. “Ultra Magnus, we are not here to fight you.”

Overlord entered his electromagnetic bubble and the polarities rubbed against one another aggressively. One of Ultra’s optics half shuttered in a wince and he forced himself to stand his ground when Overlord reached out with a black servo.  Everything about the mech before him was larger and far more intimidating than he thought possible. He was a Grand Frame-Type, one of the largest of the Ground based Cybertronian classes and to find someone larger than him set him on edge. Overlord outclassed him in height, weight, strength, defense and every other aspect. 

Ultra Magnus had never had the opportunity to meet any of the Phase Sixers other than Tarn on that one, single occasion stellar cycles ago, and now he was trapped in a room with two of them. He had seen Tarn’s handiwork, and despite it being a method of torture it was a punishment. The few videos of footage he had the chance to get his servos on of Overlord was sickening, because not only was it torture, it was _pleasure_. Overlord mutilated his victims for fun and drew it out as long as possible. Rumors had gone around more than once of Overlord using the energon and inner liquid of Cybertronians as fuel or cosmetic purposes and he had never believed them.

He truly didn’t. He told himself that there’s no such thing as a mech that could be that out of his processor and need to spill energon that they would do such a thing. However, being placed right in front of the myth had him wondering if he should reconsider.

The servo that came into sight next to his face looked like a servo anyone would have—albeit larger. What was the strength in his grip? Ultra recalled the one time he had snatched Prowl out of the way from an attacker and completely dented the Praxian’s shoulder. He knew how much strength he had and kept it in check so many times it was like a second nature. These bots would never know such a thing. They were made for power and flaunted it well. What did they know about self-restraint?

Ultra tilted his head away when Overlord’s servo touched his cheek and frowned at the soft laugh. Overlord’s palm was warm, his thumb swept around to grab his chin and turn his face in the direction of Tarn. Overlord took another step closer the moment Ultra Magnus’ patience wore thin.

“Dearest Ultra,” Overlord began in a low drawl. “When was the last time anyone focused on you? On your thoughts, your ideas, or opinions?”

He was forced to watch Tarn slide off of the table and approach them, his own field grinding harshly on the two blue warriors when he came close enough.

“I understand that the role of Duly Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord can be…” Overlord hummed. “Tarn?”

“ _Draining_.” Tarn suggested. Ultra gasped when a shiver ran down his spine at the tone.

“And as such you could use a cycle to yourself. If not a cycle then a few joors.” Overlord moved his thumb and traced over Magnus’ lower lip, pressing down gently to feel its softness. “What I suggest is simple. An interface session between you, Tarn, and myself, to relieve any stress we have gained in the recent times.”

 _Interface_? Magnus jerked back in Overlord’s grip but was stopped by a hand at the small of his back. “How dare—”

“If you agree then things will be even between us.” Tarn said as he came up behind the Enforcer.

“To…interface?” Magnus ignored whatever servo was daring enough to slide along his side to his hip. “Then I will owe you nothing?”

“Unless you don’t comply.” A servo rubbed at his spinal strut and sharp fingertips dug into what little space Magnus’ tense frame allowed. “But then, what would be the point of you returning the favor if you became picky in what it was? Letting Drift go was a sacrifice to me, to my Cause and my team. But I allowed it because of you. Surely this sacrifice is nothing compared to what other things I could ask of you.” Magnus felt Tarn’s mask against the back of his neck and stared at Overlord’s smug grin. “All I ask is this one cycle to _frag you into the berth and your debt is paid_.”

Overlord turned his face up to stare into his optics and Ultra Magnus held up a hand to stop him. He could do this. No one would know other than Tarn and Overlord and the real question would be if they would talk. The Enforcer stuffed down that thought because while he was Magnus he was no one special. Not truly anyway.

“How do you plan to enact this?” Magnus questioned, gritting his teeth when Overlord grabbed his hips and stepped backward, tugging him to the berth.

“How well can you recite the Tyrest Accord with a spike in your mouth?”

Magnus’ optics went wide when Overlord sat at the end of the berth and slid back the panel protecting his spike. The metal was clean and smooth, just as silver as his joints and he swallowed when he saw the tip of his unpressurized cord. Tarn stood beside him and watched, his own field buzzing in mild interest and irritation. Was Tarn not wanting this? To see it at least?

Overlord leaned back, plush lips quirking in a sensual, dark smile. “Well?”

His servos tightened at his side and he stepped forward, dropping to his knees. “You will not seek him ever again.” Ultra Magnus pressed a final time, glancing back at Tarn.

“You have my word.”

Magnus set his servos against Overlord’s thighs and grit his teeth, ducking his head to avoid the smug expression of the massive mech. He lapped at the head and mouthed at the small portion that he could reach, feeling the equipment heat around his lips. Think of it as someone else. Think of it as—

Ultra gagged when it pressurized in his mouth and hit the back of his throat. When he drew back he heard a tiny click from the spike and stared in horror at the jagged pieces underneath and the sharp, arching blade just under the slit.

“My apologies.” The blade retracted to its near invisible seam and the sharp barbs flipped back to hug the shaft and form a smooth curve. “That shouldn’t happen again.”

Ultra openly stared and noted how it looked harmless, the mod was practically non-existent like this and had he not known he never would have expected it. A blade to the back of his throat. The barbs would have sliced open his tongue. What other horrors awaited him by interfacing with these two?

“ _Overlord_.” Tarn warned lightly, causing an unsettling waver in his spark.

The behemoth waved him off and gestured to his spike. “Please, if you will.”

Ultra Magnus never thought he’d be wishing for the protection of Tarn as he went down on Overlord a second time. When his tongue ran over the head he feared for the sudden burst of pain and the taste of his own energon in his mouth. Overlord’s cord continued to pressurize and he paid attention, pulling back and wrapping his servo around the length. Overlord was half pressurized and he anticipated the mech had a larger spike than he. As long as there weren’t any more surprises he estimated its size and frowned, knowing he couldn’t fit the entire thing in his mouth.

More of Overlord rose in his grasp, he kissed along the sides and ran the flat of his tongue over the hidden barbs, processor keeping him distracted from the danger of the act. Overlord had done it on purpose, showed him his mods to intimidate him. When the spike gave a short hiss he yanked his head back and released him, voice catching in his throat to yell. Instead of another dangerous modification, the spike thickened and grew fat, the plating shifting to reveal a smooth protoform underneath. He had never seen such a thing—or even heard of it.

He opened his mouth and took in a significant portion, barely able to fit his mouth around it as it was. He used his tongue to explore the new modification. Would it suddenly decrease in size and catch his glossa between the plating? Would it secrete a poisonous fluid? When his tongue slipped into the gaps he found it soft under his ministrations and hummed. So it wasn’t dangerous. _Yet_.

Overlord let out a pleased sound and placed his servo over Ultra’s helm, murmuring something quiet to Tarn. When the black servo made a small pull Magnus bit down carefully in warning and instantly froze. He had almost forgotten about the mods. His optics snapped up to Overlord’s face and he saw the devilish grin. Overlord pulled harder and Magnus forced himself not to bite down, allowing the thick head to press against the back of his throat. With another yank, Magnus’ jaw was forced wider and his intake strained to make room. He gagged and his jaw snapped shut harder than it had when he gave Overlord a warning.

The triple-changer groaned and rocked into his mouth, shuttering his optics when Magnus’ hands shoved at his thighs to release him. Surprisingly, Overlord allowed it and Magnus tried not to cough when the thick cord was dislodged and his intake reset itself. “Don’t forget the main reason you’re here.”

Ultra Magnus barely heard him and when the words translated he glanced to his right, seeing Tarn in a large chair nearby, slowly stroking his spike. From the looks of it, Tarn’s spike was normal, right size, right shape with black markings lining the shaft and decorating the base. Other than the black tattoos he couldn’t see anything special about it. His own spike was roughly the same size if a bit longer, whereas Tarn’s cord was thicker. Regardless, he would rather take Tarn’s spike than the dangerous, monstrous one belonging to Overlord.

Before he could rise and make his way over, Tarn gestured to Overlord. “I will have you when you’re finished.”

No salvation then. He held back a sigh and grasped the blue and white spike near the base, feeling its weight in his servo before he took it back into his mouth. He kept half in his mouth and started to pump the other half he refused to try and take again. With a hard suck he gave the shaft a squeeze and Overlord thrust into his mouth mindlessly, whispering praises to him and a designation Ultra couldn’t decipher. He tongued and sucked and daringly bit down again. Overlord made such a dirty moan it had his own interface panel starting up.

Ultra Magnus wasn’t prepared for an overload and charge snapped across his tongue as thick liquid erupted in his mouth. His first instinct was to spit but he realized that one: Overlord might not approve and two: if it didn’t get in his mouth it’d either get on his face or on his chassis. So he swallowed, optic ridges tilting when he felt some leak out from the corner of his lips and dribbled down his chin. Suddenly the transfluid stopped. He was a large frametype, he knew just how much transfluid they could have in their tanks. Overlord had done something. He was watched with bright red optics while he pulled back and licked his lips, trying to hide his disgust.

“Very good, Ultra Magnus.” The slight pitch in his tone made Ultra think he was being praised like a pet.

He was allowed a short intermission to gather his bearings and Tarn stood. “On the berth.” Ultra Magnus rose from his spot in the floor and Overlord moved to the side, optics half-shuttered with a smug smile on his face. “Hands and knees.”

His cables locked up before his shins even touched the bed. No. Already? He glanced over his shoulder at Tarn’s bright optics and Overlord’s expression and once again contemplated escaping. If he did this they would be even. Drift would be safe from the Justice Division. One night of interfacing was worth the safety it would bring Drift.

“Magnus?” Tarn called behind him, placing a servo on the small of his back.

He reset his vocalizer and tried not to think of escaping. “How would you have me?”

“I know you heard me the first time.” Tarn slid his hand up his spinal strut and gave it a light push. “Hands on the berth, then.”

Ultra Magnus steeled himself and bent over, palms flat on the soft blankets. Tarn’s servos gripped his hips and gave them a firm squeeze, sliding lower to grab his thighs. “Open your panel.”

He shuttered his optics and gave the command to open his interface equipment. Tarn’s short hum had him tensing again and he curled one hand into the blankets, gritting his teeth. This would be over soon and he could return to his home, shower, and bury himself in whatever work needed his attention. This cycle would be nothing but a forgotten memory.

Tarn’s thumb rubbed over his closed valve cover and his thighs twitched, unprepared for it. The DJD leader laughed, “Relax.”

Vile words bubbled up from Magnus’ throat but he held them back, instead huffing through his olfactory sensor. _Relax_. He had heard that word so many times from Rodimus and now he was hearing it from this terrible tyrant. The berth covers shifted and he snapped his optics open, watching Overlord crawl in front of him and cup his face in his massive hands.

Overlord’s face drew close and Ultra backed up, inadvertently hitting his aft against Tarn’s jutted spike. His natural impulse to being cornered was to freeze and analyze the situation. For him, it backfired when Overlord tilted his head to the side and gave him a full mouthed kiss. Ultra Magnus wanted to bite him, shove him away to tell him that it was improper and impolite to kiss someone they hardly knew—but he couldn’t. This was what Overlord wanted and if he allowed a primal part of himself to agree, Overlord’s lips were _very_ nice to kiss.

A muffled word of encouragement and Ultra Magnus returned the kiss, fingers digging into the fabric under his palms. When he felt Overlord’s tongue brush against his lips he opened his mouth to tell him no and Overlord took his chance. The thumb forgotten at his valve cover continued its rubbing and Magnus started to lose himself into the kiss. Those lips were a Primus made gift but placed on the wrong mech. The talented tongue had him imagining what else it could do and his valve cover opened the same time his spike housing snapped back.

He gasped and Overlord kissed him harder, sharp teeth nipping his lips and tongue. A single finger pressed into his valve and he arched back, valve cycling down on the digit. As more lubricant started to form, Tarn pressed in another finger and slid them in and out at a lazy pace. Overlord’s hands kept him from moving any further and Ultra hissed when one nip turned into a bite and energon formed at the split lip.

“Do you have a preference, Ultra Magnus?” Tarn asked, sliding his lubricant covered fingers down to the base of Magnus’ slowly pressurizing spike.

The blue tongue lapping up his energon pulled away and Ultra watched Overlord lick his lips. “Regarding interfacing?” Tarn hummed an agreement behind him. “I prefer using my spike.” At his confession the slickened fingers wrapped around his cord and gave it a rough squeeze. He bucked his hips and bit his lower lip, frame heating in arousal and embarrassment for his action.

“Any particular reason?”

What is the point of this? He wanted to ask. He knew what they had planned, Tarn was preparing him for the act right now—his optics stared blankly at Overlord’s face. Was this an attempt to get him to relax? To willingly submit to the vulgar act? Small talk and kisses?

“No reason.” He said absently, shifting his weight when Tarn removed his servo from his cord. In truth he didn’t like the thought of someone overloading inside of him, the mess it made when it had nowhere else to go but back out and stain whatever he was reclining on.

“Anything you don’t like?” Overlord added, arching an optic ridge.

 _Being forced to comply with unwilling interfacing. Being bitten hard enough to draw energon. Knowing he have to do this or risk having Drift dead. Not knowing if Drift will even understand the things he’s done for him. Having Rodimus wake him up because he cannot recharge so he could talk him to sleep_ —

“Not as far as I know.” He said instead, shutting off all logic to get through this.

“ _Good_.” Tarn’s lighthearted voice put him on edge and another denial died on his lips when he felt Tarn nudge back the cover for his waste port and push a single digit inside.

“I’ve never—” He was silenced with Overlord’s lips and shuttered his optics, returning Overlord’s previous aggression with a harsh bite. The Phase Sixer grinned against his mouth and pulled back, reaching up to bite his smoke stack. Sharp dente grazed the metal and peeled back light curls of silver. Magnus shouted at the rough treatment to such a delicate spot and snarled when Tarn pushed in another finger as if his cry was a green light.

The soft lips wrapped around the scratches and harsh suck on the metal had him trembling. Pleasure battled against the uncomfortable feeling of having another mech’s fingers in a place they should never be and he canted his hips when Tarn continued. What had he gotten himself into.

The fingers pulled out of him and he snapped the protective plating over it automatically. It felt strange. Never before had he even imagined of toying with such a spot. His hips wiggled when Tarn scolded him and pushed back the thin covering again, nudging the waste port with his spike.

“ _No_.” Ultra arched his back in hopes of enticing him with his valve. He knew what that felt like. He knew what to expect and he could honestly never have to wonder what it felt like to have a cord in his aft. He could live without knowing. Really. Despite Rodimus’ kinky claims and the others scandalous rumors he heard he could honestly look Primus in the optics when he went to the All Spark if this never happened.

“Is the renown Ultra Magnus frightened?” Overlord taunted next to his audial.

_Yes._

Tarn gave his aft a slap and he gawked at the nerve and lingering stinging sensation. “Don’t be. You might actually like this.”

He highly doubted that.


	2. Chapter 2

Ultra Magnus had his vents wide open to expel the heat trapped in his hot frame. He had an aft full of spike and a mouth full of lubricant. He could guess that it was either a mod Overlord had in his valve to make him so wet or he hadn’t had anyone—or anything—in his valve in so long it simply didn’t know how much lubrication was necessary and was therefore, producing an overabundance.

It reminded him so much of Rodimus. The little red mech told him it was because he was so excited to have his spike in him that it happened. Ultra scoffed because the last time _he_ had been spiked he didn’t produce nearly that much. Rodimus could be teased for not even ten breems and he’d already have a puddle under him. Utterly filthy. Apparently Overlord was the same, sans Ultra’s spike providing incentive.

His thoughts were jarred when Tarn pushed into him harder and shoved Ultra’s face into Overlord’s valve. The blue Phase Sixer held his smoke stacks in both hands and kept him flush against his interface array. Tarn had an iron grip on his hips and yanked him back when he drove forward. Magnus was actually glad for the rough treatment because it meant no one could hear him moaning. At first, Tarn’s spike in his waste port had him feeling violated and uncomfortable but after a bit he found he didn’t actually mind it. That realization had him feeling worse when they had started because he wasn’t supposed to enjoy this.

But Tarn’s fat spike in his aft carried a taboo pleasure. A taboo he would indulge in for one night because this would never happen again. He was positive Overlord and Tarn would forget about the ordeal in cycles.

Ultra Magnus was a bit taller than Tarn and for both of their sakes had Magnus on his hands and knees on the berth, thighs spread to lower himself further for convenience. He groaned into Overlord’s valve and flicked his glossa against the anterior node. Overlord’s hands tightened on his smoke stacks to the point he was sure he was going to leave imprints so Ultra left little bites along the valve lining. Overlord liked a bit of pain even if Ultra Magnus wasn’t sure he could feel it. He heard about their plating being nigh indestructible and although the soft mesh had a bit of give when he bit down he wasn’t sure he was actually doing anything. He wasn’t about to tempt fate and bite as hard as he believed Overlord wanted him to in case his plating wasn’t as durable as he believed and he actually did damage.

His hands were on the inner plating of Overlord’s thighs and he curled his tongue, biting back another whimper when Tarn twisted his hips and started a different rhythm.

“You’re very good with your mouth. Do this often?”

Ultra Magnus shot Overlord a look and bit at his thighs, grimacing when the metal dented on his smokestacks from a powerful grab. He gave the metal an apologetic kiss that had Overlord’s grip easing.

“How many others do you drop on your knees for? Your precious Prime? The Wreckers when you were in charge of them before you quit?” Magnus stiffened and pulled back, staring up at the Overlord in muted horror. “Yes, I know all about the Wreckers.”

Tarn’s thrusts faltered and Magnus clenched down on him, feeling purple digits hook into his hips. He wanted Tarn to continue but it was hard to enjoy with Overlord’s mouth running. “Enough.”

“Nonsense, since we’re here I might as well ask some questions.”

“Small talk has no place in interfacing.” Magnus snarled, surprised at his own hostility. Any topic relating to the Wreckers rubbed him the wrong way. This whole situation went against everything he stood for as did the Wreckers. He didn’t want to be reminded.

Overlord faked a pout. “No pillow talk from Springer?”

Ultra’s dente clenched down and a warning growl came up from his throat. Tarn sighed behind him and pulled out, causing a nervous twinge. He felt strangely empty and he was prepared to call him back before the thought against it. No, he wasn’t supposed to enjoy this. He heard Tarn mutter something about ‘nearly finished’ and returned to the chair he was seated in before, removing a cloth from subspace to clean himself off.

Ultra Magnus snapped the little cover over his waste port and glared at Overlord, charge coiling in his stomach, leaving him restless with no way to release it. “We aren’t talking about the Wreckers.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

Overlord pulled on his smokestacks until he had to push himself up with his hands or risk having them bend. “Ultra Magnus, I must say I like you when you’re angry.”

“Get away from me.” He shoved at Overlord’s chassis and twisted his head to free the black servos from his helm. “Let go.”

“Make me.”

“You horrid—let _go_!” His hand slammed down on the Phase-Sixer’s gut and he yanked himself back, ignoring the now twisted metal. Overlord’s grip was relentless. “You’re nothing but a sparkling in the frame of a killer. Always doing something to prove yourself and getting angry when no one looks. I’ve heard about you as well, Overlord. I’ve read your files and seen the way you fight.” The cocky smile from Overlord slipped away and Ultra reached up to shove at his face. “You’re ruthless and I’m sure all it would take to bring you down is a single strategic battle. If I had been placed in charge of your deactivation I would have done it long ago.”

He was furious, how dare this Decepticon bring up his past demons. If he was going to stoop low enough to bring up his failures then he would do the same. What was the saying? A taste of his own medicine?

“We’ve have the liberty of reading a few messages Megatron received on the Nemesis. Surprising how many of them were from you. We had believed he was planning to use you for a special attack.” Magnus narrowed his optics. “We quickly realized that wasn’t the case when he dumped every message he received from you in the trash before he read them.”

A smokestack ripped off when Overlord threw him to the side and sent him tumbling off of the berth and onto his back. Before he could get to his feet Overlord straddled his waist and beamed over him, a vicious smile splitting his face.

“You remind me so much of him…” Overlord traced a finger down his cheek and laughed, the sound chilling. “The aggression when cornered…the inability to bend…” He jumped when Overlord reached a hand behind him and grabbed Ultra’s partially depressurized spike, giving it a few expert strokes. No, Magnus didn’t want to be aroused—he wanted to be angry and leave. His other hand stopped directly over his spark while the other held his spike still. “Let’s see how much it takes to break you.”

Fear shot through him at the thought of losing his spike and he pulled his hands forward to push Overlord off. Instead, he moaned when Overlord guided Magnus’ cord into his wet valve and tightened around him. “ _Primus_.”

Overlord placed both servos on Magnus’ chassis and ground against his array, lubrication dribbling down his thighs. Tarn said something to him and Overlord held up a hand and waved him off. The wet valve around him squeezed and Ultra Magnus bucked up, reaching forward to hold his hips. He was used to smaller partners. He would help them ride his spike but Overlord…he didn’t need any help. Magnus’ fingertips dug into Overlord’s thighs and he pulled him down when he thrust up.

He hadn’t interfaced with someone of his own size in quite a while. Overlord didn’t deserve the patience he would normally have with his interfacing partner. No, he broke his smokestack and insulted him. Ultra Magnus grit his teeth and slapped his hands against Overlord’s chassis hard enough to send him tumbling back. The sound of his servos against the tanks chassis echoed in the room and he was fairly certain anyone nearby heard it. He arched over Overlord and glared down at the surprised face that turned into a giddy grin.

Ultra Magnus thought himself sensible. He was supposed to be in control of his emotions and yet, this Decepticon had wrenched out his anger and mocked him like he was someone to be toyed with. This was why he left the Wreckers. They wouldn’t listen to sensibility. They only cared about results and not about the damage they left behind.

This interface session was tearing him apart from the outside in.

“I am only here because Tarn called me.” If he interfaced Overlord he would be giving him exactly what he wanted. Ultra couldn’t understand his motive. “What business do you have here?”

“ _He_ owed _me_. I knew for a fact he had one member of the List in his servos and let him go.” Overlord grabbed his head and pulled him down, his legs tightening around Ultra Magnus’ hips to pull him flush against his body. “In exchange for me not telling Megatron he had to include me on whatever deal he had made with you.”

“And interfacing with me was your choice?” Ultra Magnus saw Tarn had moved onto the berth’s edge.

Tarn’s red optics glimmered into little slits. “Frag him so he shuts up.”

Ultra Magnus felt Overlord’s valve squeeze down on his spike and clenched his jaw. He had thought the Wreckers would be his bane of existence but here he was, realizing he had found another mech he despised—only this one had his spike in his valve. _Because Tarn ordered it._ He told himself as he rocked against Overlord’s array.

Other than a darkened gleam from his optics, Overlord kept smirking and watched the space between them, optics focused on the lubrication clinging to Ultra’s spike with every outward pull. Another self-righteous mech. Overlord knew how strong he was and flaunted it, that even if he were attacked he would be fine. A flicker of interest started on the blue Phase Sixer’s face when Magnus wrapped a hand around his throat and tightened. If only Ultra could make him see. Magnus wanted to knock Overlord down a few notches. Overlord’s very nature had his own anger burning bright.

One leg dropped from his hip and Overlord shut his optics and moaned, baring his throat to the tight grip. Overlord wanted to act like he wanted this? Ultra Magnus could have sworn he felt the metal dent with under his fingers when he applied as much pressure as he could but the achievement was bittersweet. Overlord’s valve tightened around him and those luscious, plush lips parted for a thick blue tongue to peek out and wet them.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Overlord purred, letting out a harsh bark of laughter. Overlord grabbed him and yanked him down, forcing him into a kiss of teeth and tongue. Magnus bit hard and winced when Overlord did the same, his energon dripping onto the Decepticon’s lips. “You have so much fight in you.”

Ultra Magnus shoved Overlord’s face to the side so he wouldn’t have to look at him and felt sharpened teeth nick his fingers. He pulled his hips back and snapped them forward in a harsh thrust that had Overlord arching his back. Overlord no longer deserved consideration. If this was what he wanted it was what he would get. Ultra Magnus kept his hand pushing Overlord’s head away while he bit the con’s throat. His own, dulled teeth would never break the metal there but he felt better when he saw the scratches they left behind.

Against his anger and hatred, a part of him did find it pleasurable. He couldn’t be blamed. It was a natural response for his body to do. Overlord clenched down on him rhythmically and the hot vice that pulled him in deeper had him stifling a moan. Overlord was sopping wet, body arching and writhing under him, his lips blushed and bitten and bloodied. Magnus frowned at the pleasured sounds and reached down between them to play with Overlord’s anterior node, finding the hard little nub easily. With a sharp pinch and twist, Overlord’s optics flashed white and the hands on his back tightened. A static-filled whine and Overlord tensed around him, his fingers gouging deep marks along his back and denting metal along his strut.

Ultra Magnus bit the tip of his glossa to keep from overloading, refusing to go alone with the pleasurable crest of his enemy. Charge slithered along their touching frames and Overlord’s legs slid away from his waist, dropping to the floor with a heavy thud. Ultra Magnus had to shutter his optics at the face stolen in ecstasy, charge ramping back up from before at the sinful expression.

“Very good, Magnus.” Overlord purred, voice suddenly even and controlled despite how hard his vents were working. “Go on, to Tarn, now.”

Ultra Magnus tried to ignore his still pressurized spike and focus on the throbbing, dented metal of his smokestack. Tarn was seated, legs parted, purple spike dribbling transfluid. With a quirk of his fingers, Magnus crawled into his lap and waited for further instruction. They picked this room specifically because of their size and for once Magnus didn’t feel cramped. On the bright side he could fit anywhere, on the downside he would have rather enjoyed the room through other means than by forcibly interface.

“Finish up what we started before. Your aft.” Tarn instructed, red optics glinting sharply from within his mask. “Ride me until you overload.”

Ultra Magnus felt his frame heat and awkwardly opened the panel again, feeling the wetted tip brush against his port as he sank down, pressing against the head but not sinking down. He wanted to take this carefully. He tensed when he saw Overlord watching from behind, gaze pointedly on his aft and Tarn’s spike. Tarn snatched his hips and forced him down before Ultra could prepare himself. He couldn’t hide the deep groan from being filled and stretched and shut off his vocalizer.

“Don’t. I want to hear you.”

Ultra Magnus spat static at the demand and started to pull up, rolling his hips in circles on every downward thrust. The enforcer quietly moaned and despite the humiliation—he liked it. The thick cord and heat pouring off of Tarn and the charge that was ramping up in him had his valve lubrication and spike aching. Tarn reached down with a single finger and rubbed at his shaft, still slick with Overlord’s lubricant.

“Utterly _filthy_.”

Magnus let out a breathy sigh and grit his teeth when Tarn pressed his fingertip against his leaking slit. Taking Tarn’s spike before had been careful, his own valve lubricants used for lubrication, Tarn pushed his fingers into him and prodded at the walls, quietly purring for Ultra to relax. How many times had he heard that word today? Too many. Too many times for it to be an actual word.  Tarn gripped his thigh with one hand and rocked up when Ultra sank down, servos gently squeezing his hip as he murmured about how well he was doing.

Overlord’s chest pressed flush against his back and Magnus tensed, gritting his teeth when he felt the blue Phase Sixer reach up and fondle the air vents on his chassis. Trapped between the two, Ultra shuttered his optics. “Eyes on me.” Tarn grabbed his chin and tugged him down, hands clinging to his sides in an uncomfortable grip. “I said I want to _hear you_.” Pain and pleasure rippled through him and he moaned, rocking himself back and forth fully seated on his spike. “Tell me how good it feels.”

Would the humiliation never end? The words were stuck in his throat, choking him and squeezing away at his composure. He didn’t know how to answer. “It feels good.” He planted his servos on Tarn’s chest and hiked himself up, away from Overlord to toy with the idea that he could maybe get out of this as soon as Tarn overloaded. He bounced in Tarn’s lap quickly and spat static, back arching while he locked eyes with the Decepticon.

“For all of your eloquence…” Tarn mused, voice crackling while he quickly approached overload, “That is the best you can come up with?”

Magnus snarled and a few seconds later Tarn came and Magnus let out a garbled shriek at the feeling of hot transfluid gushing inside of his aft. He bit his tongue and whined, the filthiness of having such a substance in a place unmentionable brought a deeply hidden thrill to surface and he let out a drawn out whimper, clutching Tarn’s treads while his hips snapped up and down on their own accord.

“Didn’t take you for an aft mech.”

Magnus would give whomever said that a tongue lashing—but later. Now, he had nothing else on his mind but chasing an overload just out of his reach. Tarn watched him and fisted his spike, engine purring in pleasure at the sight of the Magnus desperate for climax writhing on his cord. When Magnus overloaded, Tarn’s grip became overbearing at the base and he barked out a bleep of frustration when his charge dialed back down but the pleasure skyrocketed through his frame. His hands pushed at Tarn’s servo on his spike and he panted, whining at the continuous pressure in his aft while he clenched and shuddered.

When he managed to collect himself, his shoulders dropped and his vents whirred loudly, matching his breathy gasps while the aftershocks tumbled over him. A pressure against his palm had him noticing that he was holding hands with the Decepticon, fingers slipped between Tarns’ stronger. His frame crackled with charge and he froze, wondering why Tarn hadn’t shoved him off yet.

“How precious.” Overlord drawled with a hard slap between Magnus’ shoulders that had him falling forward against Tarn’s chest. His nose brushed against Tarn’s mask and Ultra grimaced at the wet pop that came from being pulled off of Tarn’s spike. “But enough of that.” Overlord yanked Magnus hips up and Ultra flailed, holding onto Tarn’s hands to keep from falling off of the chair. Magnus was heavy. Overlord was acting as if they weren’t in the same weight class with how effortlessly he maneuvered him and his processor reeled with the knowledge.

Magnus felt the flames of rebellion start in him again when he felt Overlord’s cord press against his valve. So far they had left his valve alone, only Tarn’s fingers pushing and prodding to collect lubrication, they hardly held an interest in the tender piece of equipment. “ _Don’t_ —”

“You didn’t think we forgot about this did you?” Overlord cupped his aft and thumbed along the swollen lips, tracing the pure white lines that accented the opening where lubrication had him shimmering and wet. “This was inevitable.”

Magnus couldn’t stand him looking, _watching_ with that eager smirk. So he attacked. He kicked out behind him and Overlord’s optics flashed, hand pulling away from its curious exploration to snatch his ankle and wrench it to the side.

“We humored you, allowed you to use your spike first…” Overlord held onto the leg and spread him open, thick head sliding back and forth along his opening. The pressure had him dribbling with lubricant, the warm, slick fluid marking lines down his thighs. “Have you no gratitude?”

Magnus held his tongue and felt a trickle of fear when he heard something hiss behind him and felt Overlord’s spike grow hotter and larger. He wanted to snap at him. Say something to finally shut the blue mech up but wouldn’t. He hated dropping down to their level with petty insults and veiled words. He had to remember he wasn’t like these criminals.

“Ultra.” Tarn said, voice beside his audial. “Optics on me.”

Magnus peered over his shoulder one last time before looking forward. They were so close, sharing each others ex-vents, Ultra could faintly smell high-grade and tensed when he felt Overlord hold his hips and start to press in. Overlord had mods—the reason beyond Magnus’ imagination. It was bad enough in his mouth but if he were injured in his valve he’d have to get treatment. He would rather not have anyone know of the things he’d done tonight. Overlord stretched him, scorching cord sinking into him too fast for him to adjust in time but slow enough for him to feel every inch that forced its way in without tearing anything. It hurt, though. The pain remained and slowly increased the deeper Overlord was able to enter him.

Magnus panted and squeezed Tarn’s servos, hips rolling in little circles to try and ease the pressure. He was shocked when Tarn gave a little squeeze back and leaned forward to nuzzle his face, purple mask pressed against his cheek. “ _Relax_.” His spark trembled and he nodded, shuddering his optics. Tarn hummed and slid his thumb back and forth against Ultra’s hand. “ _Doesn’t he feel good inside of you_?”

“Y-yes.” Feeling the ridges snap against his internal nodes had him whimpering and he pushed his hips back, mouth dropping open to whine. When he felt his ceiling node touched he locked up, legs twitching to clench together against Tarn’s.

Tarn released one of his servos and pressed his fingertips against Ultra’s spike, softly squeezing down and purring at the charge that crackled along his wrist and thick tranfluid that dripped from the tip. “You’re very close to overloading aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Ultra rocked back against Overlord gently, the teasing charge buzzing back and forth between the mechs spike and his ceiling node. He could feel the charge all over his frame, bundled into a mass of contained energy, unable to release it. Spike heavy and crackling with charge, he wanted to overload—properly this time.

“How long do you think you’ll last when he starts fragging you? Two breems? _One_?”  Tarn’s chassis clicked and hissed. “Connect with me.” Ultra eyed the long connector Tarn held in his hand and an impatient nudge from Overlord had him overriding the protective codes to keep his hardline ports locked. Tarn took his time plugging into Ultra Magnus, teasing the connectors and fondling the little drives until Ultra felt like crying. He wanted to overload, he was so close he was sure he could get himself off if he didn’t need one hand to hold himself up and…his spark leapt when Tarn made the final connection and he noticed that they were still holding hands.

Why? Why hadn’t Tarn pulled his hand away and made fun of him like Overlord had? When Tarn’s tertiary firewalls dropped and opened a line for them to share information he felt the backlash of Tarn’s own arousal from watching and having this much control over him. He started taking Ultra’s charge for his own and Magnus’ overload was pulled back once again.

“Frag him.” Tarn ordered, engine purring.

One joor later, Ultra Magnus didn’t know if it was his own frustrated desperation or Tarn’s hidden desire that had them kissing just before he screamed out an overload.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of cum inflation in this little part but nothing too extreme.  
> I don't think it's enough to have me tag it so I'll just put it here.

Ultra Magnus woke up exhausted. Several tiny yellow flags and two red ones waited for analysis on his HUD when he opened his optics and stared at the metal ceiling. His frame ached and most of him throbbed, self-repair hard at work to patch up whatever it could and remind him not to move. He had been foolish to think that he could return to work the next day. The Decepticons were notorious for making the lives of others inconvenient. Magnus had expected a trade of information, vague answers to questions Tarn might have had.

Not half a cycle and full night of interfacing.

His entire interface array had shut down for maintenance. His first priority was to make sure they hadn’t damaged him but he couldn’t read any of the system scans. Not a good sign. The enforcer dragged a hand along his torso to make sure his hardline panels were shut when he felt his stomach. He refused to sit up, instead feeling along his abdomen and letting out an involuntary beep when he pressed down to touch the small bump. His gestation chamber was full. Internal scans show that while deactivated, it had been opened during a third-party command and stuffed full of transfluid during interface.

He shuddered and sighed, pulling his servo away to drop back on the berth. He knew for a fact that the deactivated chamber and still locked chest plates proved he wasn’t sparked. Ultra had a feeling one of them had a kink for that sort of thing and dragged him into it. The two of them performed many vulgar acts—but ones he wouldn’t have to think about any longer. It was over. He would only have to see them in passing or in meetings but he wouldn’t be dragged into their personal lives again.

Sitting up with a silent grunt, he was prepared to take in the sorry state of his frame when he found himself clean. Paint transfers were swiped away, the lesser dents straightened and scratches covered with a sort of medical gel Ultra hadn’t seen before. The deeper ones though, the ones on his thighs and hips were still partially visible, but with a second layer of concealer they were harder to notice and he wouldn’t have spotted them if he didn’t feel them himself.

“It would be bad if anyone saw you leaving the hotel looking as you did.”

Magnus’ weaponry popped online and shut off again. He turned to the left and saw Tarn sitting in the chair he had been in last night, clean and scratch free, a datapad in his lap. He stayed? Why? Magnus presumed as soon as they were done with him, they—or he—would leave instantly.

Magnus didn’t know what to say. He checked his frame one more time and ignored the ache that clawed up his frame. They were the only two in the room. “Overlord?”

“Gone. As soon as he finished he left.” Tarn subspaced the pad and sat up from his comfortable sprawl, red optics bright and alert. “Your deed is done. We are even.”

Magnus nodded and hid his pain and humiliation as well as he could. “Understood.” He had work later and he didn’t know how to hide his full gestation chamber. That couldn’t be masked with paint or banged out. His gaze lingered too long and he forced his sight away and back to Tarn. Why was he still here? Ultra Magnus had an idea of how their deal would go but everything was wrong. They shouldn’t have interfaced. Overlord shouldn’t have been there.

Tarn shouldn’t have stayed.

“I admire the lengths you are willing to go to…to save your teammates.” Tarn began in an even voice, breaking optic contact to stare out of the tinted window. “While it is foolish—downright _stupid_ —for you to agree to this. I have some knowledge of your feelings toward Drift so the exact reasoning behind this deal is unknown to me.” His head slowly tilted to the side in consideration. “The only thing I can think of is _loyalty_. Drift is an Autobot now and it has fallen to you to make sure your side stays safe. Whole. _Alive_.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes, “Why are you here?”

Tarn’s optics pinned him to the spot and he stood, removing an energon cube from his subspace to drop off at the end of the berth. “You have my comm. if you need me.”

Ultra Magnus watched him leave and realized he had overslept. He had missed two meetings and quickly scanned over a message from Prime that wished him well. Magnus saw that someone had posed as him and sent a message asking to change their time, claiming he was ill. Ultra had no doubt it was Tarn’s doing. He struggled to stand and stretched, grimacing at the joints that popped and snapped. Since he was clearly in no shape to work and was already dismissed, Magnus decide hiding out at his place was the best choice. Downstairs, past the main desk where the bot there gave him a friendly wave, completely oblivious to what had occurred, Magnus transformed and fled home to recharge.


End file.
